


The Cottage, the Godson

by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)



Series: The Cottage, the Husbands [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bittersweet, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, POV Outsider, godfathers, mentions of divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20305177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill
Summary: Perhaps a bit more bittersweet than the rest: Harriet Dowling arrives with her son at a tiny bookshop in a South Downs village, where a former nanny and gardener have offered a helping hand as she and Warlock face a difficult time in their lives.





	The Cottage, the Godson

Harriet Downing stood outside the tiny bookshop in Alfistron Village with an air of uncertainty. The windows were filled with books, mostly lovingly used paperbacks, and beautiful potted plants were arranged artfully outside the door. The only thing that made it stand out among the shops of the picturesque square was the carefully handwritten sign in the window that read “Large Snake in Residence.” Which was…a bit ominous. 

“You’re sure this is it?” she asked, turning to look fondly at her son. Warlock had shot up recently, and he seemed to be made of an unnecessary number of elbows and knees, but the sight of him made her heart ache in a gentle echo of the first time she’d ever seen him, thirteen years and a few precious months before. 

Warlock looked up. “Yeah. They said it’d be the one with the snake and the wings.” He pointed up at the wooden sign. The shop didn’t appear to have a name, just as it somehow hadn’t been listed on the village website. He grinned, a flash of boyish joy that was far too rare these days. “This is the place!” He rushed forward with unaccustomed enthusiasm and all but kicked open the door, calling out as he did the names of two people he loved as a bell jangled merrily over his head.

It hurt, though it shouldn’t. More people to love Warlock was _good_, she was _blessed_ their old gardener and nanny had kept in touch after their retirement. But, oh, where were the rolling eyes and the hunched shoulders and suspicious looks he turned on her all day?

Harriet sighed and straightened up. Warlock was a teenager going through a difficult time, and she was the primary caregiver (and therefore primary target) in his life. He’d work through it!

She hoped.

She stepped into the little shop just in time to see Warlock throw his arms around the chest of a tall, thin redhead who could only be Nanny Ashtoreth – if Nanny had been more given to sleek slacks and expensive looking silk blouses rather than tailored suits. And most unfamiliar – Harriet had often chatted with Ashtoreth and discussed Warlock, but she’d never seen the wide, bright, smile that lit up the sharp features, disarmingly charming. She looked so much more happy than the Ashtoreth Harriet knew.

But the sunglasses were there, and the red hair curled into the familiar 1940s design. 

“Much too tall,” she was saying to Warlock in her careful burr. “You’ve nearly caught up to Francis.”

“Is he here?” Warlock asked eagerly. “I _knew_ you two had run away together Nobody would listen! Said Francis was out of your league!”

Harriet hid a laugh behind her hand. She could still remember his serious face two years earlier, his claim that the homely gardener and the fierce nanny were “really in love no matter what Nanny says” and had run off to elope. No one had taken him seriously until the letters started coming. He didn’t share them with anyone, save the first few with Harriet so she wouldn’t worry (he could be a sweet boy), but it had been clear from the beginning that, though writing separately, each wrote so freely of the other that they must be close. 

Ashtoreth looked almost – was that – _shy_?! Harriet had never imagined such a thing! She’d expected a sharp quip about just how far out of her league Francis was. Instead she looked like, were she any other woman, she would have been blushing. “He went to get some things for tea, my dear. He’ll be back in a moment.” She lifted her head then and her smile turned polite instead of startling as she said, “Good afternoon, Ms. Dowling. Did your trip go well?”

“Yes, no problems.” Harriet smiled back. They’d gotten on well enough, during Ashtoreth’s years working for the Dowlings. She came across as severe, but she had always been scrupulously fair (if rather _odd_) in her treatment of Warlock, and there had been a few times when Harriet had seen under the serious exterior to a sharp and witty sense of humor underneath. “And please, just Harriet. It’s…it’s terribly kind of you to invite us.” 

That was an understatement, all things considered. They had agreed, at Warlock’s urging, to let him stay with them in their cottage near the ocean for a full week while Harriet dealt with paperwork and lawyers and her own aching heart. 

Ashtoreth looked a bit uncomfortable at that, and she opened and closed her mouth as if not knowing quite what to say, but the jingle of the bell saved her from answering. A man with familiar white-blond hair came bustling through the door with a basket in his hands. “Oh dear,” he said in an odd voice before it fell into the more familiar broad accent, “I did hope I’d beat you back.”

Harriet blinked. She rubbed an eye. She looked again. 

“Brother _Francis_?” she asked, confused, even as Warlock said, “You weren’t _kidding_ he looks different!” to Ashtoreth. 

Francis smiled at her beatifically. Gone were the yellowed teeth and the fluffy sideburns and the strange smock. Instead he wore a comfortable cabled jumper in pale blue and tailored trousers. Only the scuffed shoes and mess of short curls were the same. 

“Of course, my boy,” Ashtoreth said blithely. “If we were to be seen in public together, there had to be certain improvements.” 

Francis shot her a mildly reproachful look but she just smiled that familiar sharp smile at him as he set his basket on the table in the open room. “Good afternoon, Ms. Dowling! And our young lad!”

Warlock walked forward, hand out for a polite shake, only to squawk as the plump man pulled him into a hug that looked like a solid 15 on a 1-10 hug scale. Harriet didn’t remember him being particularly physically affectionate. “Aye, it’s good to see you, young Warlock! You’ve been rememberin’ all I taught ya?”

“Most of it,” Warlock said, and Harriet didn’t miss the way he briefly went still, just as he did in her arms, before pulling away to maintain appearances. “And Nanny too.” 

“Give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail to unpack,” Francis said cheerfully, “and we’ll have a lovely tea. Do you have any luggage?”

Warlock rebooted for a moment before squawking and rushing outside to get the bags he’d left on the cobblestones out front. Francis chuckled and moved – somehow still bustling – through a door and into a small kitchenette. The shop didn’t seem large enough for a kitchenette from the outside, but she was no architect. 

It felt so _warm_ here. So cozy.

_Loved,_ she thought, and felt tears press at her eyes. She wanted a home that felt this way. She’d never had it. And here Ashtoreth and Francis had managed it in their little bookshop. Their home must be downright perfect.

She met Ashtoreth’s glasses and said, softly, “Thank you,” while Warlock couldn’t hear. “It’s been so difficult-”

“Life often is,” Ashtoreth said sharply. The door jangled but seemed to be stuck – Harriet could hear Warlock cursing on the other side. “But you will work through it and rise above.” She said the words as if they were fact, written somewhere in gold letters on marble. In that moment Harriet, who had been prey to tears and uncertainty for so long over her decision to break her son’s family in half, believed her. She wiped a tear away with half a smile. 

Ashtoreth crossed to the door but paused with her hand on the shaking handle. “You’re very brave,” she said, and something soft crossed her face. “It’s difficult to leave the past behind and start over.” 

She opened the door and let Warlock in, easily taking the smaller of his bags and explaining how they’d get it down the lane to their cottage. Francis set the table with a beautiful antique china set and tea from a large, piping hot thermos. There were cookies and little sandwiches and some cakes, all clearly bought nearby. 

Harriet sipped her tea and nibbled cucumber sandwiches as she watched her beautiful boy chattering and laughing with his nanny and gardener. He talked about school and his friends and his games – the last of which Ashtoreth knew a surprising amount about. He never once mentioned home, and neither did Harriet. 

It was Francis who kept Harriet neatly in the conversation, asking about her work and the trip over with her and Warlock. Her son had even laughed when she told the story of the debacle at airport security, when she’d finally discovered she somehow had a dime in her bra. He’d acted horrified at the time, as if she’d meant to embarrass him on purpose, but now he laughed along with the others, dark eyes alight.

Oh, she’d missed this boy. When had she seen him last? It had to be months. And it was all because of her, being selfish, wanting something better. Maybe she should have waited until he was eighteen? Maintained his stability? But what if Thad raised a hand to Warlock one day, as he had to her? What if he actually _hit_-

Soft fingers squeezed hers. She startled and looked at Francis, who winked at her almost roguishly. “I never know what she’s going on about with these games of hers,” he said, lifting his hand away. “I know they like to get you to spend money on buying pretend money. She’s especially proud of that.”

“Proud?” 

“Ah-oh, nothing, nothing.” He waved a hand. Harriet was reminded of a number of odd non sequiturs she’d heard from his over the years. “Does Warlock need watching on that count?”

“No, but only because we’ve cut off access,” Harriet admitted., but she hastened to add: “He’s really a good boy, Brother Francis, it’s just been-it’s been hard for him. He’s angry and scared.” 

Francis hummed quiet agreement. “And you?” he asked kindly. He’d always been so kind, almost unnaturally so, in the same way Ashtoreth was always almost comically severe. 

She opened her mouth to say she was fine, just fine, that’s what everyone wanted to hear when they asked how you were, after all. Nobody wanted a woman to fall apart, to talk about her husband’s affairs or his absences or the time he nearly hit her because he was so tense about his job. No one wanted to see a woman cry while she admitted she’d failed as a wife and she was struggling as a mother and everything, everything felt _too hard_ right now. 

But somehow, instead, she said, lower lip trembling, “Much the same.”

Francis nodded seriously. He glanced across the table at Ashtoreth who was, with unfamiliar animation, arguing the finer points of Minecraft fan-made content with Warlock, and his smile was so soft that it ached under Harriet’s ribs. “We recently left behind everything,” he said quietly, voice pitched for her ears only. “Not just our jobs, though we knew Cr-Ashtoreth wouldn’t be needed much longer; you’d kept her on longer than we thought you would. But our . . . families. We had to, to move on. To have this. Something better.” He looked into Harriet’s eyes, and something unfamiliar warmed her from within. “I won’t betray the confidences of Warlock’s letters, but he does understand why you’ve made this choice. And though he can’t say it . . .” they both looked across at the boy, who glanced back at them questioningly, “he believes you and he will find a better life. And so do I.”

The tears came. She tried to hide them, because this wasn’t the time or place, but they fell of their own accord, warm and wet down her cheeks. She grabbed one of the soft napkins to hide behind, successfully stifling any sound. She had made the decision for both of them, because she loved Warlock and didn’t love Thaddeus. She hadn’t, not for a very long time. Maybe not since she found herself, all alone, in a hospital in Tadfield. 

“Mum?” He sounded like a little boy.

Harriet rubbed hard at her face and lowered the napkin, wobbly smile in place. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to get upset.” She stood up. “Thank you so much for the tea, but I must be going. I’m sure it’s just lack of sleep. I’ll be right as rain after a night in the hotel.” 

Ashtoreth’s soft voice held something like a hiss, and Harriet barely heard it. “Be honesssst.”

Warlock bit his lip, looked away, squirmed in his chair, and then jerked to his feet. He shuffled three steps before crossing the last bit of distance at a run and wrapping his arms around his mother’s waist.

Harriet almost hesitated before wrapping her own arms around him and pressing her eyes against his soft hair. “Warlock?” she asked shakily.

“It’s okay, Mom,” he said. “I’ll be okay here. You won’t have to worry about me. And I’ll-” he stopped, cleared his throat. “I’ll miss you.”

Harriet smiled and gave him a final squeeze as he pulled away. “I’ll miss you too,” she said, and the tears were there but hidden away behind something that could be like peace. She looked across at the two odd people who had agreed to help them when her own parents berated her for divorcing and wouldn’t take them in. They stood together, arms around each other’s waists, not-quite-watching and instead smiling at each other in a way that felt like a couple who had been married for sixty years and still found comfort in the other’s eyes.

She could have a chance at that. She could start over, and try again. 

“Now be good,” she said, and Warlock sighed and rolled his eyes and acted terribly insulted, and Francis laughed and Ashtoreth led her out the door and made sure she had transportation to where she needed to be, and Warlock squeezed her hand one more time as she left with a tin of cookies and a book to read on the road and a sincere, “You should stay a couple of days as well, when you get back” that she was going to seriously consider.

There was laughter as the door closed behind her and she heard Warlock say, “So how far are you guys from the beach?”

Harriet stopped and took a deep breath. 

She could do this. She wasn’t alone. 

She smiled to herself.

God did sometimes send the unlikeliest of angels, when you needed them most.


End file.
